A Resistance Is Born
by MusicalBohemian
Summary: A prequel to the musical 'We Will Rock You', based around the characters Meat and Britney and the forming of the Bohemian Resistance.
1. Chapter One

_**Chapter One**_

The girl walked quickly down a pillared corridor. She stopped at the end, and clamped her hands over her ears. She felt like screaming, but she didn't want to be found. She had, after all, excused herself to 'go to the toilet'. Instead, she leant against the wall, scrunched up her eyes and sank to the floor. They'd been getting worse and worse, these headaches...whenever the music started and the dancing began, her mind protested and her limbs felt heavy and weak.  
It wasn't exactly fear; she was a terrible Ga Ga dancer, yes, but...it was more of a loathing. She hated the precisely choreographed sequences, hated having to move in time with everybody else, hated the dull, monotonous music they had to dance to.  
The girl tentatively uncovered her ears...Good. They've stopped for a break. The music's gone. At least for a little while. She picked herself up and swung her arms. Now that she was away from the dance room, her body felt normal again. She pushed her way through heavy glass doors and descended the stairs. She would go and have something to eat. And then go to bed.  
She made her way quickly down an identical pillared corridor to the one above; a quick glance through the large windows in the walls told her that the boys from the Boy Zone were still dancing. She brought her head quickly down again. The fair-skinned, blonde-haired boys held no attraction for her. Yet strangely...something made her look again. She didn't know what...she scanned the grinning yet disturbingly blank faces of the boys, wonderingly.  
But then she saw him. A troubled frown was etched into his face as he struggled to follow the dance moves with the precision he certainly didn't possess. He looked out of place, too; dark-skinned, not fair...his black hair had been braided into short dreadlocks...and he seemed to have a strength about him that was nothing at all like the skinny, malnourished builds of the others boys.  
Before she had realised what she was doing, the girl found herself transfixed, her nose only centimetres away from the window, thoughtfully watching the individual who had caught her attention. The more she observed his pitiful attempts at Ga Ga dancing, the more she thought he reminded her of somebody she knew well...the only person she knew well...herself.


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

Suddenly, the computer-generated music was cut off, and the boys stopped dancing. They began to stretch their arms and legs, warming down after their exercise. All except one boy, the boy who was different. He wiped his dark forehead with the back of his hand and wandered slowly towards the window. The girl ducked out of sight, gasping with nervous anticipation. As she had hoped, it wasn't long until the door to the dance hall swung open and the individual strode hastily through it and down the corridor. The girl recognised the relief she felt coming from him in waves; it was as familiar to her as her own hand.  
  
Quickly making up her mind, she leapt to her feet and began to walk silently after the boy. She was interested in him, she was sure of that...although simply because she could relate to him. They were the same as each other. Different to everybody else.  
She watched the back of his head bob down the corridor until he dragged the cyper-canteen doors open and materialised into the crowd within. The girl followed in pursuit.

The cyper-canteen was yet another sparkling white, pillared room. Yet with one main difference. This room was colossal; it had to be to accommodate 2,000 Ga Ga kids all at once. Each and every teenager in the room wore white uniforms of various 'in-style' cuts and shapes, yet all with one other thing in common; the 4-square Ga Ga logo eblazoned across the front.  
  
If the girl had been hoping to find any other person, it would have been impossible. Yet the person she was hoping to find felt so familiar, so individual, that she was confident. Her eyes swept quickly, casually around the canteen, left to right, right to left. And there he was. Sitting, as she had hoped, alone, staring vacantly at a blank cumputer screen he could not avoid. At every place at every table, a computer buzzed, waiting to be used to order lunch.  
  
The girl slipped, unnoticed, through the alien crowd.


	3. Chapter Three

_**Chapter Three**_

At first, he didn't see her. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular, so he couldn't blame his ignorance on that, yet...he'd just grown used to being ignored, and to ignoring in return. In any case, he wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there when she finally decided to pinch him on the arm. And, he noted with a grimace, she was strong!

They sat, staring and silent, until after several minutes the girl opened her mouth to speak. He prepared himself, wondering what kind of insults she was planning to throw at him.  
  
"You all right?"  
  
He was confused. Was this girl joking? She looked serious, but then...the mocking laughter normally came later anyway, after he'd made a fool of himself. He decided it would be safer not to answer.  
  
"Hey," the girl smiled a little sympathetically, "I said, you all right?"  
  
None of the usual taunters would smile like that. He nodded. "Yeah, absolutely great. I love my life. Don't you?"  
  
The girl laughed. "Yeah, I absolutely love living on this complete dump of a planet. Wouldn't _dream_ of living anywhere else, frankly."  
  
He risked a smile in return. He tried not to feel too wary, but...how could he know that she wasn't just another one of _them_? She looked like them; maybe prettier and more healthy looking...but she had the blonde hair. Rather wild and unkempt hair, but blonde all the same.  
  
"Why are you talking to me?" He wanted to know.  
  
For a split second he saw an offended shadow cross the girl's face, but it was gone before he had time to regret his sharpness.  
  
"What do you think?" she grinned, "You're different. Interesting...you're like me!"  
  
"I'm like you?" he repeated, dubiously.  
  
""Yeah...you're like me. You can't dance-" She ignored his stricken look, "You don't do computers, you don't have any friends...you're not obsessed with yourself," she continued, "Or, at least, I hope not!"  
  
"It's like you know me...!" The girl had his attention now.  
  
"Of course I do! And I'm sure you could get to know me to if-"  
  
Then, as a digital clock bleeped the hour, there was a disappointed groan as every computer was switched off, and hundreds of Ga Ga kids tore themselves away from their blank screens and filed from the hall. White-clothed bodied slammed their way past the two insignificant individuals, making no effort to avoid painful contact with their heads and shoulders in the process. The girl gave an irritated sigh and forced her way to her feet.  
  
"I'll find you again soon. Shouldn't be too difficult...I'll just look for the best-looking guy in the school!"  
  
She left with the throng, yet not as a part of it.  
  
He remained, staring stupidly at the empty chair beside him, flattered, excited, anticipating.


	4. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four**_

Perfect! The girl bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, pleased with herself. Step One of Plan: Induviduality undoubtably underway. She'd seen the boy, spoken to him, even, and he was certainly the ideal ally. No more Ga Ga dancing...no more computers...goodbye Ga Ga uniforms and so-long to loneliness. Within two weeks, maybe one with his help, the could be out of here...out of school. Out of Ga Ga territory forever.  
  
She punched the air and spun around excitedly, receiving disgusted looks from passing white-uniform-wearers. Ignoring them, she turned faster and faster, grazing her shoulders along the walls. It was not until she had fallen headlong through an open doorway that she finally stopped short. She had no choice in the matter; she was on her knees, head reeling. She pulled herself up almost immediately, shaking her long, wild hair around her, yet she still felt giddy. She wondered where she'd ended up, and raised her head to look.  
  
She saw eight figures, four in black, two in grey, and two dressed in the academic robes of the school. Teachers and...others. The girl shook her head again, vigorously, and the eight figures reduced in number to four. She made out the face headmistress, severely addressing a hefty-looking man in grey flanked by two even heavier-built black-uniformed guards. The headmistress was speaking.  
  
"I really feel I must protest! I will not have my school used as a-"  
  
"There is a rebel in you school, ma'am. It's something you're going to have to face up to."  
  
"So I understand, but if you'll just-"  
  
"You'll also have to face the fact, ma'am, that we have a job to do. Our job is to trace this rebel, find out it's secrets and dispose of it." The way he spat the word 'rebel' made the girl sure that this authoritive man was not on her side. He was still speaking,  
"So, if you'll excuse us, ma'am, I am now going to do my job. For you, I will make it quick. An individual like this rebel isn't going to be hard to spot. Dark, ridiculous hair. With a terrible build, I might add, not the type fit for dancing at all."

She knew without doubt who this tyrant had been ordered to root out and destroy. And she knew if she didn't do something within the next minute, it would already be much, much too late.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

He sat on the edge of his dormitory bed: with no family to speak of, and nobody who would have him, he had no choice but to spend his free time at cyberschool. School was the least place he wanted to be. He gazed at the glistening wall in front of him, glad that the large built-in plasma viewing screen had been disconnected. Being unable to afford his lodgings had its advantages: he couldn't have accessed the computers even he'd wanted to.

He thought about the girl. He was intrigued by her, and although he'd told himself to keep himself to himself as much as possible, he couldn't stop himself wondering when their paths would cross again.

He knew it was important not to be noticed; his secrets were too deep. The cheap white sheets rustled as he slipped from his bed and crept towards his wardrobe: the one item of furniture in his room besides the bed, a small desk and the lifeless computer and screen. The wardrobe door creaked as he opened it; the noise made the boy jump and his breath quicken. Slowly, silently, he moved his fingers down a hollow space between the two door panels until he found what he was looking for and drew it out.

Back at his bed, he unfolded a piece of crumpled plastic-coated paper...carefully, carefully; this form of document had stopped being used at least twenty years ago. He smoothed the thin paper out until he could read the words imprinted into its surface. His whole body seemed to freeze as he gazed raptly at the strange words that he lived by...although he did not know what they meant.

But then, all too soon, the feeling of satisfaction was gone. He jumped stiffly to his feet, trembling. Raised voices drifted down the corridor towards him. He tensed, and his eyes flicked desperately around the room. They were here! They'd found him! But he'd made absolutely sure that he'd never be identified...so how...? The girl!

Scared, betrayed, he drew his last straw. He flung the door open, trying to compose himself and to conceal his valuable document. Scuffling noises could be heard, closer now. He began to walk, seemingly calmly, down the corridor.  
His head pounded as he caught his first glimpse of the men who had finally come to take him, but he continued towards them. He passed them as they knocked on a door to his left: two black-uniformed heavies, and a tall, impeccably-dressed figure with a leer on his otherwise grim face.   
Miraculously, they had eyes only for the unfortunate Ga Ga kid on the opposite side of the door, and he couldn't help grinning slightly as he turned the corner at the end of the corridor. 'Tough guys, maybe,' he thought, 'but not exactly bright!'


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

The girl ran in a panic down corridor after corridor, her shoes squeaking on the white and shining floor. She cursed repeatedly under her breath and tried to ignore the outraged stares she received from those she passed. She dodged teachers and students alike, her bright hair obstructing her view. Desperately, she looked for any sign of the boy from lunch. Another corridor flew by, and another...she took a flight of stairs in three bounds...stumbled as the corridor ahead turned steeply to the left. Eventually, breathing heavily, she stopped. Dejected now, she gazed at the empty turning ahead of her, wishing for the boy to appear.

And, miraculously, he did. He looked as calm as ever, and this comfirmed her fears that he was oblivious to the authorities who had come for him.

"Get out of here!" She yelled, breathlessly, and he spun in surprise. His eyes narrowed when he saw who had shouted, but the girl did not notice as she flung herself at him. He found himself being dragged by the arm, and the girl whispering desperately in his ear.

"You're not safe! Haven't you realised that? They've come to take you away! You have to get out!"

What was she doing? He thought. Acting innocently...acting like she'd done nothing wrong! She'd betrayed him, and here she was trying to help him!

Still, he needed to escape somehow. As he let the girl steer him down the corridor, he realised that she was heading for the only emergency exit on their floor. It could have been a trap, yet it seemed to be his only chance. With one final and renewed burst of speed, he sprinted, overtaking the girl, to the safety-barred door and reeled into it. It opened as he pushed against it and he stumbled out into the sharp evening air. The girl followed.

He gazed at her furiously, and she gazed back, breathing heavily. He slowly turned, in time to the thumping of his heart, and ran. Down the light-weight metal stairs and across the black stone courtyard. The girl followed, relentlessly. He reached the cyberschool's boundaries, wrenched open the gate and sped out into freedom. Still the girl kept pace with him. Fuming angrily, he spun around and caught hold of her shoulders. She stopped with a gasp.

"Well, when's it going to happen?" he screamed at her. "When's the trap going to be sprung?"  
The girl gazed back in astonished silence. She was at a loss as to what to say.

"Come on!" He felt himself shaking her. "Where are they hiding? Do you get your reward now, for leading them to me? Or after I'm dead?"

With a cry, she broke free from his grasp. Before he could stop her, the girl darted back towards the way they had come. He instantly realised his mistake. Cursing, he gathered the little strength he had left and set off after her.

He caught up with her as she entered a forest of air funnels. A small cluster of trees in a public garden once stood there , but many had been felled to clear space for air factories and filters. Trees were no longer an integral part of the planet's eco-system. Many had simply died, due to the excessive amounts of chemicals in the atmosphere. 

She fell against a tarnished, quietly humming funnel. Warm, artificial air leaked through its sides.  
He approached the girl with his arms spread, silently apologising. She ignored him, and he faltered. 

"I'm-" he began. She cut him off with a sudden, violent outburst.

"You're what? Grateful? That I saved your life? You could have fooled me, mate!" She took a shuddering breath. "No...don't thank me! Just run, now I've given you the away and live in danger! I'll just go back in there, shall I? Before the air domes lock for the night. I'll go back to that place, because I'm like all the others, aren't I? I'm no better than any of them...shallow, self-centered, ignorant!"

He took it, his mouth still open. Then, "I was- I was trying to say I'm sorry."

The girl lapsed into silence. Seconds sloped by as she crouched, frozen, trying to contain her hurt. Behind the boy, the shimmering air domes hissed as they closed around the cyberschool and blew large quantities of artificial air in through cannisters. The air funnels around them juddered and became silent.

"Well. That's it then." She sighed, "The filters are off for the night; we can't get back in there; the air's running out. Now we both get to die."

He stared, aghast. The thought had not occured to him until now.  
"Unless you got any smart ideas?" she asked dubiously, eyebrow raised.

He thought. Usually, he had a lot of time for thinking. Yet, when it came to urgent decisions - well, his mind didn't work that way. But then...why did a sudden incredible thought flash through his otherwise blank mind?

"I do!!" He blurted excitedly. "We need to leave this- this area, we have to find a place where they don't have air domes...don't need them- "

The girl snorted. "Yeah, ok then. A place where they don't need air domes. Isn't that like...nowhere!"

"There is somewhere!" he replied indignantly. "Underground!"


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

The air was unfamiliar in this area; thick with the strong smell of countless chemicals, yet thin and insufficient at the same time. No care had been taken to install air domes here. The empty streets echoed dully as the pair passed building after abandoned building, their breath coming in shorter, sharp bursts now. 

"If we don't find this safe place of yours soon, we might as well just give up," the girl muttered to her companion.

"It's near...I can tell," he replied hoarsely.

"Oh yeah? And how's that?"

"I can feel it...it's whispering to us. Listen!"

She looked at him blankly. It wasn't the first time she'd questioned his sanity since they'd began their journey. Still, she felt she should humour him. She struck an exaggerated pose of concentration and raised her hand to her ear.

"Wait!" she cried suddenly, "I _do_ hear something! I hear...I hear the sound of precious air being sucked out of us during every minute we waste standing here trying to hear bloody whispers that don't exist!"

She took hold of her companion's arm and, to his protest, began dragging him through the otherwise silent streets. It wasn't soon before both runaways found themselves struggling for air, their chests tightening as their movements stole the last precious breaths from their lungs. The girl slumped to the ground, gasping, but the boy, still caught in her strong grasp, found himself wrenched sideways and headlong towards a mound of rubble and metal railings bent backwards like broken fingers. He stumbled and tripped as his arm finally released itself from the girl's hold. And he fell.

"Hey!" The girl attempted to cry, while all the sound that she emitted was a tiny, hoarse squeak. She crouched, motionless, aghast, staring at the place where the boy had fallen. Yet she could not see him. Dizzily, she dragged herself closer to the rubble, and then over it. She found herself gazing through a thick layer of swirling dust into a dark chasm; as she strained to see through the blackness, she heard a cough and a triumphant yell.

"Told you we were close! Underground! I told you I heard it!" She heard scrabbling, and could only assume that he had pulled himself to his feet, and was performing some sort of over-enthusiastic free-style dance. She supposed he must be good at dancing, really...just not of the Ga Ga kind, and not in public.

The darkness was absolute in the tunnels below the ground, but the air was clear and, surprisingly, there was enough of it. Neither youth was struggling for breath as they made their way carefully through the echoing labyrinth, their fingers on the cold, unusually smooth walls guiding their way.

"Why are the tunnels so straight?" The girl asked her companion suddenly, "And why aren't the walls uneven?"

He had been silent throughout the duration of the journey, embarassed by the way he'd let himself go when he'd first discovered the hole in the ground. Yet now he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"These aren't ordinary caves, you know," he told her, "I don't think they're even really caves at all. It's what the people before us called the Underground. They used it a lot in the last century...they had trains running down here."

He could see the girl's baffled expression even through the blackness, and hastily explained, lest she should think him insane once again.

"Trains...well, you know. Like Air-Buses, but they ran on rails instead of pressured air. The rails'll still be here, I bet they will. We can find them later. Anyway, those before us used the Underground as a transport system. That's why the tunnels only go straight, and why the walls are so smooth... They had stations - all underground, of course - where you could get on and off the trains. Stations with posters all over them and buskers and stairs that ran on electricity! Escalighters, they were called, weren't they?"

The girl shook her head dubiously. It all sounded a bit pretentious - electric stairs, and those things called posters - what would this strange boy come up with next?

"My guess," he continued, his voice now loud with excitement, "is that we've got to come to one of these stations sooner or later. Then we can see everything - the posters, the ticket machines, the platforms - and if it's a nice enough station, we might as well start making it feel like home!"

"You mean we're gonna have to _live _down here?" The girl cried, suddenly indignant, "alone?"

As the darkness gradually became less intense, her companion attempted to conceal his expression of hurt. Instead, he set his face into a puzzled frown as if to question the flicker of a glow that seemed to be emerging from around a corner. They shuffled cautiously forward, silent now, and a little scared. This could be the station they had been waiting for; or it could be a trap.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

"Freeze where y'are!"

As a sharp voice with a strong accent rung and echoed through the tunnel, the boy gave a yelp and took a hasty step backwards. His companion, however, stood firm, and fixed him with an exhasperated and withering gaze. She rolled her eyes as he attempted to cover his momentary fear without conviction.

"Stay where y'are!" threatened the voice again.

"Or leave!" yelled another voice. Female.

Much to the boy's trepidation, the girl who he had come to know as being almost fearless in danger defiantly replied. "Why?"

Silence replaced echoes. After the passing of several heartbeats, the strongly-accented voice spoke again, but it was now a voice that posed little threat.

"Eh? Wh-what?"

"Why? Why should we leave?" the girl yelled through the tunnels, "We found this place, and we can use it if we want!"

"Hey...but...hey! We found it first!" 

The pair grinned at each other as they heard the tremor in the disembodied voice. Whoever this underground inhabitant might be, he certainly wasn't used to being challenged. It made the boy wonder how long this person had belonged to the dark of the tunnels. The girl, however, lost patience. Regardless, she began to pick her way down the final stretch of track between them and the voices. Unable to decide whether to be worried about her or to admire her courage, he remained, rooted to the uneven ground. He glimpsed the flickering of a light on her bright hair before she made the last turn in the tunnel, and waited for the worst. He didn't have to wait long. The girl's excited explanation echoed through the caverns.

"Where'd you get all that gear?!"

In stunned silence, the boy eyed the platform he had ended up at. It was large, and although damaged, decrepit and unbelievably grimy, he knew it was perfect. The walls curved upwards, and torn posters still clung to them: their colours faded but their words remaining. His gaze fell onto the colourful map of Tube routes and surrounding stations etched into the tiles, then drifted to the red 'O' of the Underground symbol bearing the legend 'Tottenham Court Rd'. Cylindrical electric lights hung precariously from the walls, fed by a mysterious power supply. The boy sat on the platform itself, his legs dangling, motionless, off the edge and over the rusted tracks beneath.

By his side, his friend chattered, pausing only to elbow him sharply in the ribs. He shook his head as if to clear it and turned his attention to their new companions. There was the man with the accent. He had long, blonde hair, although brown at the roots, and a graffitied sleeveless jacket. He wore his shabby trousers unzipped, revealing bright red Y-fronts. Beside this outrageous figure of a man sat a stony-faced woman. She was dressed in squeaky black leather and had acquired a great many metal studs and chains. It was to this black-haired woman that his friend was attempting to converse with.

"Where'd you get the studs from?"

"Gutter somewhere."

"And the belt?"

"Old shop."

"The chains…?"

"You find them everywhere."

"What about the boots?"

"Some street. Someone'd chucked a whole load of leathers out there."

"I like the boots," the girl stated earnestly. She leaned forward, "Tell us the street you found 'em on!"

The black-clad woman raised a studded eyebrow. "I can do better than that for you. Take your pick, I've got enough."

"You mean there's more here?"

The young woman snorted. "You didn't expect me to leave nine pairs of boots there for some other fool to get their hands on, did you?" She shook her head and beckoned behind her. "They're over there…in one of the lockers. The dented one."

The girl gave a laugh of anticipation, dragged herself to her feet and quickly disappeared into a small, enclosed area that had once been used as a secure-room for passengers' belongings.

It took the boy several minutes to realise that the now silent pair were staring at him, amusement playing over their faces.

"You're sitting too far over the safety line, mate. Next tube that comes along's gonna knock you flat!"

He cleared his throat and shuffled away from the platform edge. Then he recovered his senses.

"There _are _no tubes any more," he replied witheringly. "They stopped running years ago after they invented air-transport. Nobody ever uses rail-transport these days."

The pair nodded, sending each other meaningful glances. 

"You know your stuff, we'll give that to you," the wiry man admitted, surprised. "Big Macca."

"What?"

The stony-faced young woman, after eyeing the long-haired man's set expression, sighed resignedly. "Church."

"What?" The confused boy repeated.

"What, Big Macca? It's me. Stands for _Sir _Paul McCartney. Big star of the-"

"The late twentieth. I know. But 'Church'?"

"_Charlotte _friggin' Church. Ring any bells?" the young woman asked drily.

"Uh…well, no."

"You're lucky."

A bang echoed around the station as, from the enclosed security room, the girl shut a locker with finality. She emerged with her arms spread, and flicked her leg out behind her in mock-Ga Ga fashion. She stood, attempting to stop her grin from spreading any further, as her friend and her two new companions took in her new appearance. She'd found over-large black boots and torn, black stockings. She wore a pair of black and red dyed hot pants-she felt they were pretty flattering-and a garish brassiere: pink and glimmering in places. She hadn't been able to find any underwear amongst the vast expanse of odd garments, but her green Ga Ga ones had had a surprising effect when teamed with the large quantities of ragged black netting across her arms. Her hair, already a tangled mass thanks to her previous treks through lower London and the whole other world beneath it, hung around her shoulders confortably. She spread her leather gloved hands and countless metal chains and cuffs jangled on her wrists. She laughed.

"Makes a bit of an improvement on that Ga Ga gear, at least!"


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

The darkness at the station, if it were possible, seemed even more absolute than before. The boy suspected it must be early morning, and glanced at the sputtering light bulb, glad of its glow. Suddenly, it gave a loud buzz and fizzled out for a few seconds; the boy jumped and Big Macca, wrestling with the seal on a food packet of some sort beside him, turned at the movement.

"I wouldn't worry about that, mate. It's been like that for months, but it hasn't stopped yet! I dunno how it does it, but I stopped worrying about it ages ago!" He punched the air triumphantly as he finally managed to prise the seal apart, and offered the bag to his companion. "Want some?"

The boy peered into the packet curiously, and was taken aback. "You eat them?!" He indicated the orange, powdery thin triangles inside. 

"Yeah. Doritos. Nothing like 'em!"

"Doritos!" echoed the boy, wonderingly.

"Yeah! That's what I said."

"I always wondered what they looked like."

Big Macca threw back his head and roared with laughter, while the boy continued to gaze in delight at the Doritos. "Well, now you can find out what they taste like, too!"

The boy felt a touch at his shoulder, and turned to find his friend, in her new get-up, her eyes flicking from Big Macca to himself. She noticed the open packet and an amused expression spread across her face. She reached out and took the packet from Big Macca, who failed to notice, and to the boy's dismay, shovelled the majority of the crisps into her mouth. "You were never going to eat them, " she reasoned, "You'd just've stared at them all night!"

Big Macca, noticing the girl, attempted to contain his laughter.

"So what do I call you?" he asked the boy, "What's her name?"

"She's…Meatloaf." The boy replied for her. He'd plucked the name from the air.

"I am n-" The girl protested indignantly. She stopped abruptly when she noticed the look of approval on Big Macca's face. 

"Meatloaf?!"

"Yeah. That's me!"

"Nice name. Meatloaf rocked before Ga Ga."

"Thanks." She grinned and made a note to thank the boy later for his quick thinking. It occurred to her that, by introducing herself with her Ga Ga name, she would have been scorned by Big Macca and Charlotte Church. Not the best way to start their new life.

"And your name is…?" Big Macca asked the boy again.

"I…" the boy stuttered, "am…Britney Spears!" He'd given the best name he knew to the girl, and left himself with second-best. Still, it didn't matter.

"Britney Spears?"

"That's me! _'Nice name'_, I can see you're thinking!"

There was a pause, as big Macca's face contorted into many thoughtful and pained expressions. Finally, he voiced his opinion.

"Britney who?!"

"What? Only the biggest, baddest, meanest, nastiest, ugliest, most raging, rapping, rock 'n' roll, sick-punk, heavy-metal psycho-bastard that ever got get-down funky!...and you never heard of Britney Spears?"

"Yeah. OK, mate. You win!"

They sat in silence for a time: the boy savouring his new name, the girl savouring the Doritos. Big Macca, who lay with his head back over the edge of the platform, spoke.

"Charlotte 'n' me are going up-ground tonight. Scavenging, you know. You've got the underground to yourselves, kids!"

It was night: very, very quiet…yet not dark. True to Big Macca's word, the light continued to flicker and buzz. The boy lay on his stomach on a thin, grey mattress, thankful for the absence of his companions. His hot breath came in small skeins of steam as he read under his breath from a smoothed-out scrap of paper spread across the hard mattress.

He scanned the Text through, three times over, and then sat up, resting his back against the curve of the tunnel wall. He raised the paper in front of his face and saw how the light shone faintly through the thin, brittle sheet.

"Britney?"

He jerked, and the paper tore apart in his trembling hands. 

He swore loudly as he gazed in utter disbelief at the flimsy remains of his most important possession.

"Hey!" For the first time, he looked beyond his treasure towards the voice. It was her. The girl he'd been stupid enough to drag along with him. Meatloaf.

"Britney?" She said again, tentatively. "Brit? You OK?"

He refused to look at her for longer. He was angry, very angry with her, he was sure; but…No. Better to push her away. She'd do more harm than good, in the end. It had already started. He glared at the mattress, glared and glared and fingered the crackling paper remnants. He sat for so long in the silence that he felt sure that she had gone, and so he swivelled, eyes tight closed, until he was curled face down on the mattress. He dropped his paper to the floor. Almost at once, he heard a rustle and then a creak as his bed tilted slightly. He groaned, his face still hidden.

"Leave me alone!"

"Britney. What is it? What've I destroyed?"

Silence.

"I will find out, Brit. I'll put it all back together and read it!"

In spite of himself, he laughed briefly through his nose. "You're too stubborn," he sighed. He saw her smile hesitantly. A nice smile. It almost made him smile too.

"Well, that's what you must like about me! It's my best feature!"

"I wish I could. But I don't think I can like anyone."

"Yeah! You can, Brit! We're not stuck in Ga Ga land any more!"

"I know."

"Well, that's good. Now shut up and let me figure out this thing of yours." She spread the pieces out in front of her. "Why'd you want something so easy to break, though? People didn't actually use this stuff, did they?!"

He nodded, but she was already deeply concentrating on the puzzle before her. Her hair hung across her cheeks and it seemed to him that it glowed as the light flickered over it. Was that her best feature? He found himself deciding.

She gave an indignant, exasperated sigh and the boy abandoned his thoughts to find the paper, although looking worse for wear, pieced together on the mattress. Her look was far from triumphant, however.

"What?" He ventured.

"I can't read it."

"Why?"

"It's in the Old language! We never learned that at Ga Ga School!"

"I know."

"But you can read it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I learned. My own way."

"I'd say secrecy is one of your strong points, Brit!"

"Mmm."

"You gonna read it out to me or what?"

He faltered. Glanced at the words on the paper. Words for his knowledge alone.

"I don't know if-" He began.

"-You can trust me?" She finished, incredulously. "Brit! Who rescued you from Globalsoft and that life we were living? Somebody you can trust, I should hope!" She leaped from the bed and stood across from him, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. "So read me that thing or I swear I won't give up until I find somebody else who will!!"

The pair stood, their glares locked. They waited, moving only to breath. The air turned colder in the silent tunnels. Finally, with a shudder, the boy sank to his knees in front of the reassembled scraps. The girl mirrored his actions and they became seated, face to face on either side of the low mattress. He indicated the paper.

"This is what we know as the Text. Only one person from each generation of a small minority of people knows it exists. The small minority call themselves the Bohemians, since they don't succumb to Ga Ga like other people do. The Text is passed on from Bohemian to Bohemian, and that's why I have it. The knowledge of the Old Language comes with it. I'm this generation's Bohemian!"

"You're a Boho?"

"I'm a Boho."

"Well, good. I believe you. Now read the 'Text'."

"I'm getting there! The message passed to me with the Text was 'The future is the past'."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning we don't have to live like this in the future. We can have trains, Old Languages…and individuality and real music! Musical instruments! Live! No Ga Ga cyber sounds! We could-"

"That's not what the Text says."

"Not what the Text actually says. I'm coming to that.  
Now, the future can be a good future. But how can we change it by ourselves? We need more: a Resistance. People we can trust."

"Oh, great." She rolled her eyes to the roof. "This could take forever; you don't trust anyone."  
"Wait. It's the Text that decides who we can and can't trust. It tells us words only Bohemians'll know - although they won't know why they know it – and it'll lead them to us, now we're free of Ga Ga."

"Lead them to us here?"

"Well, me. Lead them to me. But only because I'm the guy with the Text."

"Brit, you have the Text!! You're the man!" She leaned across the bed to slap him exaggeratedly on the back. "Now will you READ IT?!!"


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Britney woke in what he supposed must have been the morning, just as exhausted as he had been before sleep. Meat was nowhere to be seen, and he was surprised to feel a dull disappointment in the pit of his stomach.

They'd talked well into the early morning, once Britney had shared the contents of the Text, and had only been startled into silence by a sudden metallic crash from the bend in the tunnel and a stream of drowsy cursing that could only have been the angry complaints of a sleep-deprived Big Macca, who must have returned from his night-time rambling. Britney supposed he must have fallen asleep soon afterwards, although he had a fleeting memory of a drape of golden hair, warming his left shoulder, before he'd closed his eyes.

The boy rolled out of bed and stood up, shivering, hit by a cool breeze as it wafted down his part of the tunnel. It felt to him like the ghost of a draught in the wake of a clattering train. Shaking his head slowly, he pushed all thoughts of the past to the back of his mind and set off down the tunnel. Past Big Macca's empty camp-bed, past Charlotte's rusted and vacant bedstead, out onto the station platform.

Britney was still utterly alone. He shivered again, unnerved by the stillness of the place, as he wondered what to do. His gut instinct was telling him to sit down, stay put; yet something nudging at the back of his mind told him that he should get up, get out and investigate.

He hesitated, his feet heavy and reluctant, his spine itching.

He sat down against the wall.

Sitting and thinking were his strengths, what he did best. He resolved to stop, to merge into the cracked-tile walls, until the problem sorted itself out.

A head of sleek, black hair emerged from the concealed entrance to Tottenham Court Road underground station, followed by an equally sleek, black-clothed body. Charlotte Friggin' Church scanned the sunlit street for a full thirty seconds before beckoning back towards the tunnel entrance.

"Right, Meatloaf," Big Macca caught hold of the blonde-haired girl as she prepared to hoist herself through the opening. "Remember what I said back there. What we're doing is dangerous. It's daytime. You're only here because we can't do it with just the two of us. It was Britney we could've used most, but he knows too much. If he was caught, it'd be all too easy to reveal all under torture."

_Torture_…Meat's head swam. _Reveal all_…She felt she knew exactly what it was that her friend might be in danger of revealing…she tried to shrug it off.

"I don't think-"

"Meat, I'm serious. He ain't told you anything, has he? Anything that could give him away…if you were caught?"

"No!" The reply came out high-pitched and a little too hastily. The long-haired man gazed at her suspiciously for a moment; surely he was remembering the night before…hours of whispered conversation…but instead of enquiring further, he silently threw his pack up towards Charlotte, and swung himself up after it. Meat followed, felling slightly subdued.

"About time," she heard Charlotte remark, "I feel like a human beacon, in broad daylight wearing all this black."

Britney's back had begun to ache. The curve and slope of the platform wall meant that he had to sit slouched over, bent in the middle. He groaned as he hoisted himself upright.

"Sorry, Paul!" he shouted suddenly, as if his apology for the night before would bring Big Macca back. "I mean…sorry, _Mister_ McCartney!"

His words echoed as emptily as ever throughout the long platform.

_…McCartney…Cartney…Cartney…ney..ney…_

As Big Macca smashed the glass pane in the door to the once-grand theatre, Meat gazed up at its fragmented name. _'Domi…on'_, the sign now read. She wondered what this theatre had seen in the past, and what people had entered and exited through its doors.

"We'd use the stage entrance," Big Macca had explained earlier, "that whole wall's crumbled to the ground. But we'd be out in the open too long. We'd be caught…"

Privately, although the thought of capture terrified her, Meat was saddened that hey must aid the destruction of this ancient building. She heard a small cry of triumph and turned to see Big Macca, feet planted firmly inside the theatre, beckoning towards her. She clambered awkwardly over the splintered pane and onto a glistening carpet of sharp glass shards. She was grateful for the sturdy, thick-soled boots she now wore: the flimsy trainers Teen Queens were provided with would already have been torn into strips of thin, polyester ribbon. Practical for dancing, maybe, but not manufactured to withstand the extremes. She wriggled her toes in her tall black shoes as Charlotte's own iron-toed boots came to rest beside hers with a crunch.

"Charlotte," Big Macca whispered, "I think the best place would be over there, behind that display case; you'll have a good view of the street, and stay hidden." The woman nodded, and settled herself down there in a panther-like crouch.

"Meatloaf," the girl snapped to attention as Big Macca addressed her. "Follow me."

Britney's stomach rumbled unsettlingly loudly. He was hungry, and yet he had no idea where the food was stashed.

If there was any food.

Meat longed to sit down. She'd been standing, her arm raised to the dusty fuse box on the wall, for five minutes, and the adrenalin she'd felt at the thought of risk had already worn off.  
Next time, she decided, she'd let Britney go. Text or no text.

"Just remember", Big Macca had told her before he'd disappeared behind the poky box-office counter, "as long as you hold these two wires together – completing the circuit, okay – we're safe. But if you let go…hey, I don't know exactly…but we'll be in trouble. Big trouble. It's down to you, girl."

Meat wished she could swap posts with Charlotte; at least then she'd be able to sit down.  
She felt a slight warmth in the fingers of her right hand, and looked up quizzically. She supposed it must just be the electrical current pulsing through the wires she held.

Yet as the minutes passed, it became evident that no amount of current could generate as much heat as that being transferred through Meat's stinging fingers.

The circuit was faulty. Dangerous. The fuse should have broken by now; if technical studies at Cyber School had taught her one thing, it was that. Meat wondered vaguely how long it might be before Big Macca reappeared, and whether she'd be able to hold on for long enough. She imagined withstanding this pain for hours, days, weeks…and the heat wasn't that bad really, now the thought about it…she couldn't really feel the burning any more…

She shifted her fingers on the wires tentatively, and instantly wished she hadn't. The heat shot through her hand, past her wrist, up to her elbow, paralysing her arm. With a gasp she recoiled, stumbling backwards. The tips of her fingers were white, fluidless.

_Big trouble_. She remembered those words. _Big trouble_.

From the corners of her eyes the girl watched as the two thin wires peeled themselves apart, yet she couldn't register it; didn't notice the shrill, reverberating alarm as it sang of intruders. She didn't feel Big Macca's grip as he urgently propelled her backwards, and did not recognise the cold, gloved hands that grasped her soon after, tore her away, forced her forwards, dragged her towards danger.

A small part of Britney was telling him he ought to feel anxious for his missing companions: they must have been gone for four or five hours. Yet all that he felt was a cool anger and a sense of inadequacy.  
He'd found the way to this underground labyrinth, after all. Why shouldn't he be out there, creeping around?

Scanning the ground quickly, he seized a crumbling chunk of rubble and threw it violently out onto the rusty tracks; the softened mortar struck with a dull thud and exploded, dusty fragments drifting in all directions.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**  
**The room was empty. It was a spotlessly clean – if plain – box of a room, with no furnishings or features other than the cold steel chair in which a pale, yellow-haired girl sat slumped, seemingly asleep. The box-room was dark, but for a beam of light reflected across the floor from where it filtered through a crack in the door ahead.  
And from behind the door, Meatloaf noted, her eye opening suddenly, issued a voice that she recognised.

"You did well to notify me," the voice spoke contritely, and Meat imagined a tall, broad body draped in a fine, tailored suit, "and I expect I should not let your work go unnoticed."

"Thank you, Commander." The second, oddly tinny and mechanical voice belonged to a figure in grey-black attire who bowed his head in front of the door, causing the light from the next room to flicker.

"Yes. Now, if you will just leave me your email address, I will make it my duty to inform Madam of your…accomplishment."

"Thank you, Commander!"

"Yes. And now – ah – , you may leave."

"Yes, Commander."

The head retracted and the beam of light became unbroken once again. Meat closed her eyes as she attempted to think; her mind was still frustratingly slow and her hand continued to burn dully. If this man were to enter the room, Meat could seize her chance…to do what? To strike out at him? To dodge him and run? Run to where? Neither option seemed favourable.

Yet, as the door opened with a creak and the light beam expanded in size, the girl's hopes were crushed. Around her, she heard the slight buzz and felt her hairs prick up at the static being produced from the bars of a laser cage.

No escape, now.

_Big trouble.  
_  
Big Macca's words came back to her as she reluctantly opened her eyes again, and glared up into the broad, strong-chinned face of Commander Khashoggi, the same man Meat had witnessed in the headmistress' office, before her escape from cyberschool. The man who was after Britney. The enemy.

The Commander raised a thick, grey eyebrow and spoke. "Yes. Now. I've heard that you like to be known as _Meatloaf_." he spat the last word and then paused, as if expecting confirmation. "That is _not_ a name. It is a remnant of a past that no longer exists and – in fact- should never have existed. Will never exist again! I am sure that you know this…so sure, even, that you will comply by telling me your real name. Your email address."

"Why should I tell you?" The girl spoke out finally. "It's a remnant of my past, and it no longer exists!"

Khashoggi gave an amused sniff and stepped closer to the glowing bars of Meat's cell.

"Unfortunately for you, the real world still exists. And, in the real world, you are little more than a criminal. Hence why you are being held here, if you were wondering."

Meat rolled her eyes; the Commander seemed less intimidating, somehow, now she knew he could not reach her within the white-hot bars. "I'd worked _that_ one out!"

"Good, good. Then I wonder whether you can help _me_ work something out?"

Before continuing, however, Khashoggi brought his hands together sharply, clapping three times. In moments, another metallic-grey-clad figure – although this one was evidently female – entered the room, a metal chair clutched seemingly effortlessly in one gloved hand.

"Commander…" Her low, tinny voice announced as she placed the chair down with a flourish. She then turned, and paused – rather suggestively, Meat thought – before gliding back the way she had come. The Commander, seating himself, noticed Meat's gaze, and laughed through his nose.  
"A world of use, the Yuppies. I am so much in Madam's favour that she allows me the run of them while she is elsewhere."

Meat nodded knowingly. "I can see why _they'd_ satisfy you for as long as you're under their command.

Khashoggi's face, it seemed, reddened for an instant and his jaw set like stone. When he spoke again, there was ice in his articulated voice.

"You have committed enough crimes already, girl, without adding _treason_ to it! Robbery, rebellion, communicating with known _'Bohemians'_, identifying oneself with a forbidden name from the past, trespass, refusal to comply, running from cyberschool-"

"-Excuse me?" The words slipped out before Meat could stop them. She could have hit herself, if only it wouldn't have given herself away even more.

"Ahh. Do I sense a little guilt?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never been to cyberschool. I've been a rebel all my life." She sensed this wasn't the best thing to say. She silently cursed her quick mouth.

"Be careful what you admit, and what you choose to deny." The Commander's manner was different once again; dangerous, unpredictable, quietly threatening. "Though you may save yourself from what you deserve, there are others who may still suffer. You _Bohemian_ friends, for example."

Meatloaf looked at Khashoggi in horror, and disbelief that she could have forgotten her companions for so long. "Where's Paul? And Charlotte? If you hurt them-"

"Their freedom will coma at a price. They are, after all, two of the most criminal rebels on Planet Mall. We've been searching for them for such a long time…and now that we have them…" The Commander shrugged. "Of course, you could always answer by questions and let them walk free."

It was her or them. The choice was an easy one.

"Not _again_!"

He did not sound angry, as such. Merely bored and exhausted. There was so much he and Charlotte could be doing.

"I told you…I told you she wasn't ready. We could have done it alone."

"Charlotte." Big Macca sighed. "I seem to remember it was _you_ who got us caught back when we were just starting out!"

"But at least I tried-"  
"Yeah. And so did she."

The tall woman snorted through her nose and sidled away to the other end of the laser cell. Big Macca was hardly in the mood to talk her round. His companion's moods always seemed worse than they really were. Instead, he looked past Charlotte, to scan the room they were held in, and the room beyond that. Theirs was large and plain, but the walls were dotted with buttons and levers, and around the entire perimeter a hundred plasma laptop screens flashed and hummed.

_An interesting choice_, thought Big Macca noticed. _A useful room, for when-  
_  
He heard a scuffling from just beyond the room's only doorway, and craned his neck to witness the activity outside. After a few moments, a grey-clad figure came into view, marching stiffly from side to side.

_Perfect_, he noted. _Yuppies. Piece of cake.  
_  
"You'd think they would've learned by now, don't you, Charlotte?" His companion turned and glared at him, but didn't reply. "I mean…this is, what, the third time?"

A curt nod from Charlotte. Big Macca continued.

"Third time, and they're _still_ guarding us with Yuppies! _Yuppies!!_ They'd need something with more than half a brain cell to keep _us_ locked up! What _is_ the dear Commander _thinking_ these days?"  
Despite her earlier annoyance, Charlotte Friggin' Church grinned, encouraged by her friend's upbeat chatter.

"Ready for the metal, Paul?"

"Yes I am, baby! Now let's do this!"

As they began to unbuckle their heavy steel belts, the woman glanced at Big Macca in disgust.

"I think it's best if I just pretend I didn't hear that," she said as he pointed his silver belt buckle at the open doorway and inched it closer to one of the glowing laser beams imprisoning them.

_Had meat escaped from cyberschool last month?_ Yes, she had. _Why?_ Because she was different. _But nobody's different; that's the beauty of the system._ Meat was. She had to be.  
_Why had she consorted with rebels?_ She'd stumbled across them, accidentally. She'd been afraid. They'd been kind. They were not criminals; they should be set free. _Had Meat been shown the way to the rebels?_ No. How could she? She had escaped alone.

"I'll ask you again. And if it's the last time, it'll be _you_ your rebel friends blame when their time is up."

Meat was unbearably hot; the laser beams radiated more warm, shimmering air than seemed possible. She was tired, she was aching, she as dropping her guard. And she knew what was coming. 

"Were you alone, when you ran from cyberschool?"

She closed her eyes, obscuring the calm, cool image of Commander Khashoggi from her view. She wondered what would be worse; condemning the two people who had given her a place to hide, or the lonely confused boy who would not allow himself to get to know the people who cared about him.

"I wasn't alone."

There was a chance, after all, that none of them would be condemned.

The Commander leant back in his seat – now a plush, padded armchair, presented dutifully by another scantily clad Yuppie – and smiled triumphantly.

"Was it a ?

"I don't know his real name."

"Dark. Wide built. Two left feet, as I've heard. No co-ordination to speak of. Terrible singing voice."

"He's a better dancer than – yes."

"And did you lead the boy to the rebels?"

"No."

"Did he lead you?"

"Yes."

"And where do you suppose he knew where to turn, when to stop?"

"He said he sensed it. Heard it."

"I see." Khashoggi nodded at the girl, apparently grateful to her for her co-operation. "And did you get the feeling that he was…special?"

"He _is_ special. He knows the-"

"What? What does he know?"

"A-about the past." Meat's heart raced as she fumbled. "About trains. Music. Schools where people learned how to count and speak different languages. And-"

"-Did he tell you how he knew these things? Did he find them written down?"

_He knows about the Text_, Meat realised. She wondered frantically whether to admit that she knew, or to pretend Brit had left her in the dark. The answer could mean the difference between life and death for Charlotte and Big Macca.

Big Macca smothered a cough as the smell of scorched cloth and fried machinery reached him. He counted for Yuppies sprawled on the floor outside; a further to in the room with him, smoking slightly from the control panels on their forearms.

He could hear no others approaching. They'd done it again. Big Macca turned and winked at his companion.

"Like to do the honours, Charlotte?"

She nodded, one eyebrow raised. She angled her belt buckle so that it pointed towards a large panel in a corner of the room, and brought it towards a laser beam beside her left shoulder.  
As before, the polished metal reflected the beam and sent it bouncing across the room. The control panel hissed as the heat hit its steel surround. No good. Charlotte tilted her buckle very slightly, aiming higher, towards a green plastic button. The beam connected and flicked the switch.

Just in time. She dropped the scorching buckle and examined the tips of her long fingers; two were a blistering red, a third was white and slightly wrinkled.

Alright, Char?" Big Macca beckoned, one foot already past the boundaries of the laser cage. The beams had gone.

"Great, Paul. Let's go."

They saluted each other, mockingly.

"Where to first, Commander?"

"I think, your Excellence, we may need to rescue a Bohemian in distress."

"He…had a paper."

Meat was terrified. How much need she give away?

"A _paper_? You mean, _real_ paper? Not a computer document?"

"Yeah. Real paper."

"Did you see what was written on it?"

"Yes. But I couldn't read the language. He read-"

She was interrupted by a shrill alarm. It reminded her only too well of something that had occurred recently, in a theatre; surely less than twenty-four hours ago. Her weariness made it seem longer. She glanced at the Commander, anxious to discover his reaction. It could only mean one thing, she imagined.

To her surprise, he appeared unconcerned. He shrugged and spoke aloud, more to himself than to the girl. "Maintenance fault. The Yuppies will sort it."

But after three minutes of the siren's ear-splitting wail it was evident that the Yuppies were _not_ going to sort it. Meat had the ridiculous notion that there _weren't any_ Yuppies left to sort it.  
Khashoggi groaned. "Five minutes". He stood, straightening his suit, glaring at the creases in the grey fabric of his trousers. As he left the room, the girl found herself pitying anybody who would have the misfortune to cross his path. Meat hoped it would only be Yuppies.

"Shouldn't we try-"

"No."

"Charlotte-"

"It's this way."

"When have you ever been right?"

"Has to happen some time. Quick!"

"This is the _longest way!_"

Big Macca sighed as his complaints fell upon deaf ears. He wasn't used to following. It wasn't like Charlotte. The new pair must have had a greater impact on her than he'd thought.  
Charlotte disappeared from sigh around a well-concealed corner. Big Macca followed, reluctant to admit to himself that _he_ would certainly have missed the turning.

He entered the room – white, square, as plain as ever – to find the black-clad woman standing, hands on hips, a stark contrast to the bright walls and ceiling. The toe of one shiny boot tapped the floor. Charlotte tipped her head to the right.

Glancing past her, Big Macca's eyes rested for a second upon a wide-eyed, weary-looking girl, pale, with a mass of bright yellow hair.

"If we'd gone the other way, we would've passed Khashoggi on his way to check out that alarm." Charlotte pointed out.

He gazed at her in admiration. "Good luck to him…I can't believe you were _right_!"

"Just as well, really, that there's at least _one_ person who won't let you order them around."

As the tall woman made her way to the laser control panel, Big Macca stared after her in disbelief. In the space of a few minutes he'd learned two important things about her; that Charlotte wasn't always wrong…and that, tonight, he would certainly invite her to spend the night in his underground alcove.


	12. Chapter Twelve

(Quick notes...first, on re-reading this fic I realise just how many typos I've made!! Feel free to ignore them, and hopefully some time in the future I'll get time to edit them! Second...this is as far as the story's been written so far, I'm on holiday until the New Year, hopefully I'll have written some more during that time! Thirdly...a warning...this chapter is an angry chapter. So don't read it if you want to stay in a good mood for long!)

Chapter Twelve

Britney paced jerkily across the platform, as if trying to wear away the painted white line beneath his soles. The other three stood together, watching.

"We really couldn't let you come, Brit, mate." Big Macca offered. "You know the Text. It would've ruined everything if you'd given-"

"_She_ knew it!" cried Britney, pointing violently towards the silent girl. Meat gazed at the floor. She'd had her share of rage from her rescuers, once they'd made it back underground.

"Yeah, and she very bloody nearly gave it away!" Big Macca pointed out just as violently.

"Why'd you tell her?"

"Why not?"

"To _protect _us all! When you showed up here, mate, I knew you had a secret, but I didn't ask…because then _I'd_ have known it…and the secret would've had twice as much chance of being exposed! I couldn't endanger you, or Charlotte, or _her_," he jerked his head towards Meatloaf, still silent, "and who knows how many other people like us, waiting out there!"

He turned away. "Charlotte, you know what to do."

The tall woman nodded, and disappeared into the tunnel to the right of the platform.

Big Macca watched her go, his closed expression impossible to interpret, then turned to face Britney once again.

"Charlotte's putting that Text of yours somewhere safe!"

The boy's expression snapped from one of guilt to outrage as he heard this. His eyes narrowed, he took a step after Charlotte; but Big Macca was there, grasping Britney's forearm a little too firmly.

"Brit, don't be stupid. It's the safest way for everyone."

The boy barely heard. He'd kept the valuable paper from everybody for years, he couldn't lose it now. He pushed back against the arm grasping his, breaking the grip and causing the blonde-haired rebel to stumble slightly.

"Brit!" Meat sensed her companion's fury and realised, for the first time, that he could knock people like Big Macca flat. "Let them do the right thing."

She flinched at his glare as he stormed into the darkness of the tunnels to the left of the platform.

His every muscle tensed with the anger he still felt, Britney sat on the edge of his uneven mattress and glared at the ceiling.

"Well, at least _they're_ bloody happy!"

Meat, a small figure up against a damp wall – the farthest from the boy she dared stay without offending – shifted. She'd retreated into herself in the wake of her companion's unexpected rage, and had found herself thinking about cyberschool. The hurt, the insult and the insecurity returned to her as she remembered her dizziness, her pounding head, when the music began to play.

"_I - I'm_ not happy, Britney."

"Why shouldn't you be?" he snapped, as Meat had known he would. "You haven't lost the only thing that mattered to you!"

"No. But I might. Soon."

"What?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Look, Brit-"

"If this is gonna be a lecture, I don't want it, okay?"

"It's not, Brit. I'm trying to help."

The boy didn't respond. This was going to be harder than Meat had thought. She needed his attention.

"Remember…cyberschool?" She began hesitantly. No response. "I remember…dancing. The music. Laughter…_at_ you, never _with _you. Funny, that you don't look exactly like the rest, don't like exactly what they do…don't have all the latest trash – don't _want _it, even!"

She saw Britney recline his head, and felt the heaviness in her chest ease slightly. She kept it up.

"I remember being the Teen Queen's biggest laugh, for all those things. Hated. For being different. "

"…Being the joke of the Boy Zone. The one their fists seemed to like the most."

She girl nodded violently. "And for what, Brit?"

"For being different."

"We didn't like it. It's made me wonder…" she felt desperate to share her idea, but – now it came to voicing it – she didn't know how to explain. "There must be other people going through what we did! And something that Big Macca said earlier-"

She faltered at a loud snort from the boy. "_Him-"_

"Shut up, Brit, and let me explain. He said he didn't want to endanger other people like us who may be out there." She stood - determined, now, to make her companion understand. "It seems so _obvious_. If we could find these individuals, then…I dunno, but anything's gotta be better than four people who – at the moment – hate each others' guts!"

To Meat's utter surprise, the boy suddenly flared and his voice rang around the alcove. "_Of course_ there are more individuals out there! Have you forgotten _everything_ I told you the night we came here? The select few…the Bohemians…the Resistance!"

She'd backed into the wall, her eyes wide. How had she forgotten it…the one close conversation they'd ever had. In an instant, her mind had taken her back to that night, and she tried to recall what had been said.

"So…if…the Bohemians are out there, waiting…and they'll recognise the words of the Text when they hear them…we can call them here! Now!" She found herself advancing towards the boy and, as if in response, he raised a hand in sarcastic victory.

"Perfect! All we need is a telephone."

She stopped, aghast. "A…what?"

"Exactly." His hand abruptly dropped to his side. "No more telephones. No more twenty-first century. So exactly how do you expect the Bohemians to hear the Text?"

"I-"

"And for a minute I thought you were on to something, when you started reeling off all that sentimental cyberschool trash. I'm going to sleep."

The weight returned to Meat's chest as the boy turned away.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Don't be stupid, kid," Big Macca reasoned – not for the first time. "I should do it. I know more about computers than anyone here."

Britney, seated in front of the computer in question, didn't bother to look up from its screen. "And that's something to be proud of, Paul?"

Neither had quite forgiven the other for the roles they had played in the events of two days ago, despite Meat's insistence that they could not pull the plan off unless they did.

"And Paul," Meat reminded him, "you come in later. After Brit's written the message."

"The message which you cannot see or interfere with the writing of…Have to keep our secrets safe, don't I?" Britney shot his last remark over to where Big Macca sat, several feet away.

"Oh, don't worry," the man replied, rolling his eyes, "I'm staying right over here."

Meat hastily interrupted. "Do you need the Text, Brit? I'm sure Charlotte-"

"That old thing? I know it by heart."

It was the girl's turn to roll her eyes. "Then get typing. I wanna see results!"

_This is it,_ thought Britney, tapping out a message more familiar to him than anything else. _At last, I'm doing the one thing I was put on this planet to do._

The girl lay on Britney's bed, her boots dangling over the end, toes tapping out a rhythm on the metal stead.

She gazed up at a grey patch on the ceiling where tiles should have been, and wondered how many tiles had once made up their underground world. Her home. She thought about how everything had to be so big now; great sheets of glass, huge blocks of plastic; no need for little stone tiles these days. She decided that, if she ever lived in a house, above ground, it would be made from stone, carved out of rock. Her bed would be metal, one that creaked at the joints, not one moulded from featureless carbon fibre. She'd have a real table, heavy and wooden, instead of plastic trays with peel-away lids. Her table would be laid with food that tasted real and looked recognisable.

He boots stopped their rhythm.

She could have all that. Soon.

"We gotta get along when they all arrive, you know."

Britney opened his eyes to find Big Macca standing over him. He pulled himself into a sitting position; he'd been slumped against the station wall, turning thoughts over in his mind like a computer chip.

"Yeah. Maybe we should just ignore each other until-"

"-So that's why I'm apologising."

"You are?"

Big Macca smiled slightly at the boy's surprise. He nodded.

"Yeah. Kid, you're okay. I should even be thanking you…what me and Charlotte tried and failed to start…you've finally done it."

For only the second time in his life, Britney felt himself lucky to have companions. He raised his hand to shake – instead, Big Macca grasped it and pulled him to his feet.

"Yeah," Britney replied. "It's only a matter of time, now."

Meat sensed a shadow fall across her upturned face, and tipped her head to see her friend, lingering thoughtfully at the mouth of the alcove.

"What's up, Brit?"

He entered shyly, almost as if it was somebody else's room he was invading, instead of his own.

"There's something I didn't tell you that night I read you the Text."

Her attention caught, she swung her legs round so she was perched on the edge of the mattress, and patted the dusty space next to her.

Britney sat.

"Tell. I don't care why you didn't before."

"Well, I don't know if you'll believe me. I'll feel stupid if-"

"you're not stupid. Go on!"

"There's a part in the Text about a…person. A special person."

"Is it you?"

"No. No, not me. The person'll be known as the Dreamer. I'm not sure but…I think he dreams about the Text. That's how he'll know he's the special one."

"But how will you know?" He could not answer. "Come on, Brit. It could be anybody! It could be a Ga Ga kid, and then what would we do?"

"This is why I didn't tell you. Because, even if he does exist, what are the chances of getting to him before Globalsoft?"

Meat shrugged. "So what's this Dreamer gonna do, anyway?"

At this, the boy's downtrodden expression lit with hope.

"The Dreamer is the only one who can defeat Globalsoft." And, as Meat struggled to keep pace, Britney explained.

"There's something called the mighty axe. This Dreamer's the only one who can find it – at the place of Living Rock, he'll know where that is – and use it to return Planet Mall to the Age of the Rhapsody. He'll save us all."

Meat shook her head in disbelief. "The _only_ one?"

"Yeah."

"So, that means…if we don't find him, there's no hope?"

"Yeah. But-"

Meat looked her companion in the eye and spoke meaningfully. "So don't you think…that if we refuse to believe in this Dreamer, we can still have hope?"

To her surprise, Britney's gaze did not drop. His eyes levelled hers as he replied.

"No, Meat. I think that, as long as we believe that the Dreamer may come some day, we have hope."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Echoes.

From deep within the underground, scuffling and hushed voices reverberating from tunnel to tunnel.

As the sound reached them, four rebel companions took up their positions at the entrance to a derelict station. They waited in their line until they heard the footfalls clearly; three sets of feet, possibly four.

The four heard an exclamation and then suddenly there they were; dirty, dishevelled, Ga Ga gear torn and barely recognisable. Three of them.

Meat looked them up and down in amazement. _Did we look like that, once?_ she wondered. She smiled understandingly as they eyed the rebels with approval, and beckoned towards the old locker room.

"Want me to fix you some new gear?"

Big Macca, nodding, was the next to step forward. "Yeah, we're all rebels here. Make yourselves at home."

All three newcomers now grinned and gazed around hungrily. At long length, one of them – a man, stocky, clumsy-looking – spoke to his friends.

"Looks like we finally found our Heartbreak Hotel."

_Heartbreak Hotel._ Britney's mind suddenly raced. Words from the past. If these people knew remnants from the Rhapsody…surely, somewhere, the Dreamer was waiting. It was all a matter of time, yet time that they did not have.

"So," the voice of one female newcomer cut through his thoughts, "why, exactly, have we been called here?"

"Why?" Britney cried, before the others could answer. "Because the Text chose you! You're the start of a Bohemian Resistance! Rebels who'll fight with us to make the past the future! And it begins right here."

Right here. _Here_ didn't sum it up, Britney thought. _Here_ was his home - all their homes, and the home of more to come – and a haven in which to relive the past until the Dreamer came.

_Heartbreak Hotel,_ he realised, really did fit perfectly.

"So," he announced, spreading his arms wide with new confidence, "welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel!"

**END**

Well, that's the end of 'Resistance' for now. Of course, there are always possibilities for future extension, but at the moment, I'm quite happy with it as it is. Thanks for reading my longest fic yet!


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